Parallels
by Amphitrite II
Summary: Doc Hudson loved once. But there is always a price to pay for happiness, and he now knows better than to let someone into his heart again. Set before Lightning leaves Radiator Springs. :::Doc/OC, Doc/Lightning slash:::


**Parallels  
By Amphitrite  
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_Doc Hudson loved once. But there is always a price to pay for happiness, and he now knows better than to let someone into his heart again.  
_**Disclaimer:** This story is based on _Cars_ and its characters and situations, all created and owned by Disney and Pixar.  
**Warnings: **Slash.  
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"_It's best for everyone."_

"_Best for everyone? Or just best for you?"

* * *

_

The memories. They kept coming back.

An attractive young racecar with Lightyear sponsor stickers plastered over shiny red paint, a confident and cocky but charismatic attitude, and a brilliant smile that all the girls crowed over…

If Doc had been a girl, he probably would have thrown himself at Storm as well. He was perfectly male and yet, the Manufacturer only knew why his engine had still felt out of whack and his insides had done cartwheels whenever Storm had playfully nudged him, kissed him, or hell, even just _laughed_.

"I know his type," he had said in the courtroom, and he had meant it. One look at Lightning and it was like coming face to face with his old friend again.

Best friends in public, enemies on the racetrack, and lovers behind closed garage doors—the two cars had been quite a pair.

Storm had begun to be seen as a potential winner of the Piston Cup in 1952, the year after Doc had won his first Cup. He had definitely been confident about it too, constantly scorning Doc's 1951 triumphs to be complete flukes and his final victory a stupid mistake. Doc had chosen to merely roll his eyes and ignore him. There would have been no point in letting the rookie get to him and shake him up, although his record and potential had indeed seemed pretty impressive. Later on, during a rare quiet and vulnerable moment, Storm had confessed that his arrogance had just been an attempt to cover up the fact that he really admired Doc and quite frankly, found him to be the sexiest thing on the planet. (Despite all his effort, Doc had been unable to stop himself from flushing bright pink at Storm's words and the lascivious leer and lustful eyes that had accompanied them.)

They had become friends halfway through the season, and although they didn't have too much spare time, the little that they were gifted with they spent with each other. Whether it was just having a drink at some local gas station café or partying at some smoky nightclub, they had a good time, just talking and having a good time. Whenever they had had to split up for different races, Doc had always felt Storm's absence like a damper on his usually easygoing attitude.

But their friendship hadn't just stopped there. It hadn't all just been about talking and sharing drinks and partying. It had been so much more complicated.

After Doc's victory in the 1952 Piston Cup, Storm had thrown a tantrum, going back to his spiteful insults about Doc's lack of real talent and passion, which Doc had known he didn't really mean. He had almost felt guilty for stealing Storm's spotlight—he had wanted it so badly, and had been so certain that he would win—but he chided himself for it; he deserved the victory. He had worked hard and drove fairly and determinedly. Still, even after Storm got over it (confident that 1953 would be his year), Doc had tried hard to avoid talking about that particular race and trophy.

Before that, though, Storm had brooded over his loss for almost two weeks before finally confronting Doc. And what a confrontation it had been. He had demanded that Doc open up his trailer (where Doc had been spending all his time, now that the championship was over and he had nobody to spend time with) so they could talk. But they never got to the talking, because the first thing Storm did when Doc got out of the trailer was corner him and kiss him.

And what a fine kisser he was, just as Doc had fantasized in his dreams. Only this was no dream… It was better. Their tongues tangled passionately, their eyes closed. Doc groaned in pleasure as Storm explored the crevices of his mouth. It was Storm who finally pulled back, but not before licking Doc's lips.

"And what brought this on?" Doc had mused quietly with a smirk.

"You, damn it."

"Me?" he had asked innocently.

He distinctly remembered that Storm had growled. "Yes, you, you stupid bastard. I was so angry with you—I wanted more than anything to make you crash into something and never be able to race again—but your stupid ass kept popping up in my head and taunting me."

Doc had stared at him in disbelief and well-concealed glee.

"Let me get this straight. You hated my guts because I won the Cup but you're not angry at me anymore because you couldn't stop thinking about my…" he had coughed, covering up his faint blush, "And because of this, you decided to kiss me. Just on a whim."

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. You're a damn sexy bitch you know, Hudson. And I'm quite the dazzling one myself. Think we'd make a good match, eh? Are you up for it?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"You bet your pretty rear end it's a challenge."

Doc had grinned smugly. "Then I think that the question is, are _you_ up for it?"

And then he had kissed him again. (And again.)

Those had been the good days. They had been happier than ever, closer than ever, and fiercer than ever on the racetrack. The only thing that had felt better than the exhilarating races against Storm had been the steamy kisses in the stolen moments. In reality they hadn't had that much time to experiment, as they were almost constantly followed by security and well, fangirls. And both had agreed beforehand to keep it all a secret, for they didn't want anything affecting their relationship with their sponsors and agents. But what time they had had together had been special. To this day, Doc still remembered 1953 as the best year of his life. Instead of distracting him, his happiness had affected his racing positively. He had won 27 races, plus the Piston Cup—breaking the record for most wins in a single season.

But he should have known that happiness always came with a price, because the rapid tumble from feeling on top of the world to being treated like he was nobody, like he was some scum stuck in a rusty car's tires had nearly destroyed him.

Possibly the worst day of his life, the qualifying race of 1954… A horrible crash on the track had put him out for the season. Unlike others who may have quit right then and there, Doc had patiently waited to be repaired and when he had been completely healed, he had returned, expecting them to welcome him with open arms and shower him with confetti. He had been the reigning champion, after all. But he had been rejected by everyone, told that he was a thing of the past, and replaced by a certain Storm Axle as top of the food chain.

It had pained him more than anything to be abandoned without care and replaced with the next best thing so easily, but nothing had hurt more than the rejection of his own lover. Could he even have been called Doc's lover? The two of them had discussed plenty of emotions over their friendship—triumph, loneliness, joy, anger, determination, and all—but never had they touched on any emotions involved in their relationship. It simply hadn't been something either of them had been willing to bring into conversation. Doc had been pretty sure that he had loved Storm, and had assumed that the feeling was mutual, and that had been enough. They had an irreplaceable bond and a connection neither of them could deny. That had been the reason he had gone to ask Storm for advice on what to do to win back his honor and his place in the racing world. It had been one of the worst mistakes he had ever made in his life. He had been rejected— completely and utterly rejected.

"Your place?" Storm had laughed. "You must be kidding me. That place is mine now, and I will finally be able to win all those Piston Cups that I deserve and have deserved for the last two years. The ones that I would have gotten, if it weren't for you. But no worries now. You're history. Shame, huh?" His eyes had twinkled with malice. Doc had refused to flinch under the cold gaze. "Now get out. A champion does need his beauty sleep!"

Now that he reflected upon it, he saw everything in a clearer light. Maybe it hadn't been about affinity and love after all. Well, not for Storm, anyway. Doc's intentions had been pure. But perhaps, the entire thing had merely been a power struggle to Storm. Perhaps it had just been a simple way for him to defeat the champion, to defeat the one car who had always stood in the way of his path to victory. It had been the only way he could get an upper hand.

Doc harrumphed. It would be so typical of Storm to manipulate his friend's feelings for him and use them for his own benefit. The bastard had probably gotten off on making Doc depend on him.

He had been such a fool, blinded by his love and never suspecting that Storm would be so cruel as to use him in that light.

Upon his new discovery, he now pondered the one thing that had been plaguing his subconscious all these years: Storm had said, _"I was so angry with you—I wanted more than anything to make you crash into something and never be able to race again"_…. Had he? Could he really have caused the crash that had ended Doc's racing career? Perhaps the "accident" hadn't been an accident after all.

But despite all the evils of his once beloved friend that were coming to surface, Doc couldn't help but think anything but fondness of him. He may have been cruel and petty and overly competitive, but he was _Storm_, and he had given Doc happiness unrivaled by anything else.

Doc had loved him (and maybe still loved him), and somehow—irrational as it was—that was all that really mattered in the end.

* * *

"C'mon Doc, I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking—like you want to devour me or something. And hell, you're not exactly a rusty old car. I've got time. I wouldn't mind indulging in an old timer's fantasies. Surely the Hudson Hornet was good with the ladies—or shall I say the gentlecars?—back in the day. With a racetrack record like that, I'm sure you have some _tricks_ up your fender." 

Glaring long and hard at Lightning—the nerve of this boy!—Doc Hudson revved up his engine and drove off. Lightning rushed off after him.

"—Whoa, whoa! Slow down, Doc! I didn't mean to offend you! Look, I'm sorry—"

Doc braked at the apology, but didn't turn around.

"What I really meant was, how about taking a drive and then settling down somewhere quiet. Look, you're really attractive—for a car from the 50's at least—and I…I really respect you, okay? And heck, you and I have a lot in common. Racecars through it all, you know what I mean? Like I said before, we really are the same, under our hoods. I think we could teach each other a lot. And maybe if it works out we could… I mean, it would be nice to…" Lightning stumbled over his words, for once, uncertain how to approach the topic.

"Don't bother, kid. Stick with Sally; you have much more of a chance of wooing her than you do me. I will only ever love on car in my entire life, and his name is Storm Axle."

"Wait… Storm Axle—the famous racing car! The 1954 winner of the Piston Cup?"

Doc barely even grunted before angrily speeding away.

* * *

"Doc? Open up. We need to talk..." 

"Shove it, boy."

"C'mon! Please, just give me a chance. I just want to say something."

Doc huffed but opened the garage door, his annoyed expression clearly stating that he was doing Lightning a favor.

To his surprise, the Lightning that sat in his driveway had white wheels and a paint job that was obviously Ramone's work.

And he had a big, charming grin on.

Doc felt his insides tremble at the too-familiar smile but disguised it with a well-practiced mask of apathetic gruffness.

"What do you wa—"

But his words were interrupted when Lightning kissed him, and his world flipped upside down.

Lightning wasn't the most experienced, but what he lacked in experience he made up with enthusiasm. A romantic may have described it as passionate and heavy, but it just felt wet and hurried to Doc. Just like the way he and Storm used to sneak kisses, he couldn't help but think, and chided himself for it. It was then that he realized the parallel between this kiss and that first kiss he had shared with Storm. He almost pulled away, but he indulged in it for old times' sake. And he couldn't deny it… Even though everyone in the town liked him, he had been feeling lonely all these years. And what Lightning had said about how none of his friends knew who he really was had struck him hard. There was nobody here who really knew who he was, nobody who really understood why he stayed in Radiator Springs, even when the customers had gone. He stayed here because of the people. The people cared about more than just themselves, and Doc treasured that fact. It was whatcomforted him in his moody moments, knowing that not everyone was as selfish and heartless as those who had outright rejected him when he had been so eager to show them what he could do.

"So, I was thinking that we could maybe head out to the dirt and…continue this?" Lightning said hopefullyas they gasped for air, and Doc remembered where he was.

He shoved Lightning away, backed up into the garage, and closed the door, ignoring Lightning's indignant yelling outside about "just trying to help everyone".

He quickly called the press, tipping them off about Lightning's location. He knew that the other cars of Radiator Springs were growing more and more attached to him; Mater and Sally, especially, would be heartbroken….

But it would be easier. It would be better, for all of them. By getting rid of what had disturbed the town, everything would go back to normal. And memories of his long buried past would retreat into the dusty corners of his mind, ceasing to haunt him ever again.

He eyes roved over his three Piston Cups and swore that he would not miss Lightning McQueen. His youth, his liveliness, his brilliant smile… It was all just rubbish. He had no reason to miss them, right?

"I will only ever love one car in my entire life," he repeated to himself, and wished things were different.  
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_Notes: _The Hudson Hornet's 27 wins was actually in 1952, but I had to tweak it a little to make it suit the story. Hope you didn't mind. 

Reviews would definitely be appreciated!


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